


Four Days

by Jude81



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: After the mountain, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Hope, Hurt/Comfort, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-29 22:39:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3913273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jude81/pseuds/Jude81
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been four days since Lexa left Clarke at the mountain. What happens next?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four Days

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all. This is my first Clexa fic, although I do have notes for about 10 other fics. This hasn't been beta'd. I don't own any of the characters, nor am I profiting from this fic in any way. This isn't cross posted on Fanfiction.net, but you can find some of my SwanQueen works there under the same name. Hope you enjoy. Be gentle with me. Gracias!

Exhaustion dogged the young Commander’s steps as she trudged up the rock-scrabbled hill towards her tent. Her tent overlooked the makeshift village the Trikru had established as her people cared for their wounded and those who had once been in the mountain. They had been too weak to continue the march to Polis, and she had been left with little choice but to stop and care for them. She wouldn’t lose them now, not after sacrificing her heart. It had been days since they had stayed in this one spot, out from under the shadow of the mountain. Tomorrow they would continue to Polis, and she would remain there indefinitely. 

She nodded at her guard and then dismissed him with a casual flick of her hand. She was tired and simply wanted to be alone. She grasped the leather tiebacks, preparing to slip into her tent when she heard him murmur under his breath. She turned and arched an eyebrow at the young warrior, her gaze sliding across the deep cut that ran the length of his left cheek. He was so young, but had proved himself worthy in the initial battle. 

“What?” She snapped, her patience worn thin. She simply wanted to be alone, to forget. He opened his mouth and then snapped it closed again, fear of her wrath making him hesitant. He knew not what troubled his Heda, but she had been waspish and short with her warriors. Indra had told them not to question her and to stay out of her way. And Indra knew. Indra had told him that it would right itself. 

“Nothing, my Heda,” he murmured as he bowed his head slightly in deference and then hurried off towards the fires that were cooking the evening meal. She rolled her eyes as she turned her head and watched his hasty retreat down the hill. She sighed. She needed to stop snapping at her warriors. But it had been days. Days since she had slept and eaten anything more than a handful of dried meat. Her spirit might still be in her body, but it was worn and angry, faltering in the face of her choices. It had been days.  
Four days. Four days she fought to ensure that now that her people were free, their spirits would stay in the world so they could return to their families. Four days since she had sent the other clans home. Four long days since she had left the Skai Prisa at the door of the mountain, tears swimming in her blue eyes. Four days since she had heard that soft voice question and challenge her at every turn. Four days since she had seen that small smile smirk cross her lips. Four days since the Skai Prisa brought the mountain to her knees with her potent rage, ripping through the mountain killing all inside. Four days the Heda’s spirit screamed in anger at what she had done, what she had been forced to do, knowing it was what was right for her people. Four days Lexa wept silent tears in her tent.

She shook her head and jerked the ties back, slipping inside her tent. The fire had been banked, the coals sparking lightly in the dark. She didn’t bother to throw more wood on it, as she preferred the darkness, pretending that it would hide the tears clawing at her throat that she knew would soon slide down her face. Her chest ached with dry, harsh tear;, her belly heavy with heated anger and intemperate sorrow. Tonight would be the last night she would grant herself this release. Tomorrow there would be no more tears, nor more silent raging. She would return to Polis to lead her people, and she would forget the Skaikru and the blonde Skai Prisa with the wet eyes. 

She shrugged out of her coat, letting it slide to the floor around her feet. She fumbled lightly with the guards on her forearms, stripping them off and tossing them on the heavy, scarred table that dominated the room. She made quick work of her sash and pauldron, hanging them off the side of her throne as she walked towards the back room, before removing the rest of her armor, tossing it carelessly to the floor. She should hang it up with her pauldron, but she was just too tired to really care. 

She grasped the jug of wine and earthen mug, and then shrugged and set the mug back down. She was Heda, she could do as she pleased, and so she simply tipped the jug back and drank great mouthfuls of the berry and root wine. She choked slightly not used to simply guzzling the slightly bitter wine. Her tongue curled, and she resisted the shudder that rippled through her muscles. The bitter taste lingered on her tongue as she set the jug down. She eyed the plate of food that had been left for her, by Indra no doubt. Steadfast, loyal Indra. Indra who had never particularly liked the Skai Prisa; who had advocated to kill all of the Skaikru; Indra who had given up her own Second in the tunnels; Indra who looked at her with dark, knowing eyes these last four days. 

She growled lightly as she turned away from the plate of food and stalked towards the back of the tent to her bed of furs. The nausea nipped at her stomach, there was no point in eating. She jerked the ties back separating the sleeping room from the rest of the tent, ready to simply fall into bed. She froze. Her fingers tightened in the leather and her breathe left her in a strangled gasp as she felt the traitorous tears well up in her eyes as she gazed hungrily at the blonde hair she knew all too well.  
The lump under the furs stirred, the blonde halo stark against the dark furs, and she felt more than heard the whispered “Lexa.” It hung in the air between them potent with pain and possibility. She slammed her eyes shut, afraid it wasn’t real, that the lack of food and sleep had finally caught up to her, ensnaring her in visions of what would never be. 

“Leska.”

She choked back a strangled sob and opened her eyes, her gaze tangling with wet, blue eyes. Blue eyes filled with both fury and pain. Four days. Four days since she had seen the Skai Prisa, her Skai Prisa. She took a step forward stumbling slightly when the blonde sat up, the furs slipping down her shoulders to pool at her waist. 

“Klark.”

She moved hesitantly into the small space, unsure of how she would truly be greeted. At least not with a dagger, at least she hoped not. She knew Indra would have carefully searched her first, for it could have only been Indra who allowed the Skai Prisa access to her tent, to her bed. Indra with the knowing, gleaming eyes.  
Clarke sighed quietly and moved over, patting the mound of furs next to her. “Sit, Leska. We have much to say.”

Lexa sat. 

She hungrily drank in the sight of the blonde, noting the fresh bruises on her face, the cuts on her arm. The war she had waged against the mountain had not been kind to her. She felt the tears again claw at her throat, the bitter taste of the wine pushing against the back of her teeth. Her heart staggered in her chest, afraid it was Clarke come to haunt her, to mock her, to make her pay. She had been hurt, but she was here. Here in Lexa’s tent, in her bed after four days. The Destroyer of the Mountain was here. Clarke was here. 

“I…I..” Her tongue stumbled over the words, unsure how to say what she didn’t even know she needed to say. 

Clarke threw up her hand, “Stop. Do not speak.” She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose between her fingers. She wasn’t sure how to do this, how to speak to Lexa with so much still between them. Maybe it was better to leave it all unsaid. Maybe her being here would simply be enough. But as she looked at Lexa, noting the strained features, the haggard pain lurking in her eyes, the jagged slump of her shoulders; she knew it wasn’t enough. She would have to speak. She would have to be the strong one now.  
“I get it,” she whispered. Her words hung in the air, poised ready to strike. “I get it. I know why you did it. I hate you for it, but I hate me even more,” she whispered, her voice cracking. She felt the brunette shift closer to her, until she could feel her body heat. She wanted to simply lean forward, let her body fall into Lexa’s arms. But she could not. Now was not the time for weakness. 

Lexa drew in a sharp breath, moving closer to the blonde. She wanted to grasp her, pull her into her arms and hold her, never let her go. She was so tired of being strong, so tired of sacrificing. All that she wanted was before her, and she had destroyed all hope when she left Clarke at the mountain. She, Lexa the Heda, had turned the Skai Prisa into the Destroyer, into the Harbinger of Death. For that is what they called her. They whispered it under their breath, Raldklin Stedawon, their eyes nervously flitting to the trees back towards the mountain, afraid that the Raldklin Stedawon fury would roll through the forest and enshroud them in certain death. 

“I hate you for abandoning me, betraying me. You left me to die, Lexa!” She cried, biting back the sob that threatened to spill over. “You made me kill Finn, sacrifice 250 of our people to ensure that the alliance would hold,” she choked, “only to leave me at the mountain, leave my people to die!” She couldn’t contain the fury anymore as it cracked through her walls, bled out around them. She swung her hand catching the side of Lexa’s face, not hard enough to do real damage, but enough to sting, to leave a mark. 

She pushed at her shoulders, angry that the brunette didn’t strike back, didn’t relieve her of the boiling pain twisting her guts. “You left me, Lexa. You left me, and I get it. I get it, because I did worse. I killed them all. I killed every last man, woman, and child in that mountain. I killed 300 to save 47.” She groaned, the words tearing from her throat as the guilt crashed down upon her, heavier than any mountainous rock. 

She slumped forward, her blonde hair spilling around her face, shielding her from the soft green eyes. She shuddered slightly as she felt fingers skate up her arm, and slip beneath her hair to the back of her neck. She felt the long fingers gently scrape across the tight muscle and curl around. She sighed in relief as she felt the gentle tug, and she leaned forward resting her forehead in the warm chest before her. 

The hot tears dripped down her face. She was so tired. Four days of wandering in the woods, scavenging for berries and edible roots, making her way to Lexa, knowing that she had to find her, to rage at her. She deserved to let loose all of her pain and fury on the Commander, deserved to be understood. She couldn’t bear the suffering glances her people had given her, couldn’t bear the suffocating silence, the edged pain in Jasper’s eyes, the wounded agony of Raven, the quiet strength of Bellamy, the abandoned grace of Octavia, the worried eyes of her mother. She thought she could bear it, knew she would bear it, but she couldn’t do it alone. Lexa deserved to share her pain, her burden. She needed Lexa. Only Lexa understood the bloody sacrifices.

“I can’t apologize for choosing my people, for ensuring that no more Trikru blood would stain this earth. But I’m sorry, sorry that you had to kill them all. I know, Clarke, I know you wanted to spare the children.” Lexa tightened her hold on the blonde, both arms wrapping around the shaking torso. She grazed her lips across the golden crown, afraid that Clarke would rear back and run from the tent, run from her. She felt Clark shift and raise her head, nestling her face into the crook of Lexa’s neck. She could feel the frantic beat of the blonde’s heart, feel the staggered air pushing against the sensitive skin of her neck. She closed her eyes, and allowed one then two, and then three tears drip down her cheeks. 

She could be strong. She could be strong for Clarke despite the tears. There would be no more after tonight. She would be strong for Clarke.

She felt her pull back and she opened her eyes, forest green tangling with wet blue. She slid her hands down her arms, hesitant tangling their fingers together. 

“What now?” She whispered, half afraid of the answer but needing to know. 

“Now? Now we sleep, Lexa. I’m tired.”

She pulled back, her fingers scraping along Lexa’s as she moved further over in the bed, pulling the covers up and holding them out to Lexa. Lexa bit her lip and nodded slowly, sliding under the furs. She lay rigidly on her back, her arms tight against her side, afraid that if she touched the Skai Prisa again, she might change her mind and run from her bed. 

She heard the groan and felt the furs shift as one arm was slung across her chest and a face buried itself in her neck. She felt the hard knot in her chest finally loosen for the first time in four days, and a small smile slipped across her lips as she brought her left arm up to stroke the blonde’s arm that was wrapped around her chest. She slid her right arm under the blonde, wrapping it around her shoulders and pulling her in towards her. Lexa gloried in the moment as she felt the sorrow from the last few days slowly bleed from her body as her muscles and bones relaxed and molded into the body next to her. 

“And tomorrow, Clarke?” She whispered as she tightened her hold around the blonde.

“Tomorrow we leave for Polis.”

Four days. It was enough.

Fin.

**Author's Note:**

> Raldklin Stedawon= Harbinger of Death. Basically I took parts of Tridasleng words and mushed them together. Steda comes from Stedaunon, which means the Dead. And I added won from won op, which basically means “die” or “to die.” I took rald from the English word, “herald” and added klin to it which denotes finality.


End file.
